


A Crime to Remember

by elemsee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fuck Canon, Gen, If you like Micah you probably won't like this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-30 06:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemsee/pseuds/elemsee
Summary: All you wanted to do was prove yourself, and now it had all gone horribly wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this in two hours after being inspired by a dream I had. Also, this story references a backstory that I haven't written yet - if there's enough interest then I may write it.
> 
> Title of this story comes from the song of the same name by Pop Evil, which is quite fitting for the events of RDR2.

The sun scorched your clothed back unrelentingly as you ran up the rocky plain, leaving behind the train carriage you'd just looted to head to the pile of large stones your gang was perched behind. Their heads kept briefly popping up as they continued to shoot behind you, leaving a trail of dead lawmen. As you finally reached them, you hit the ground and slid behind a particularly large rock, finding yourself next to Dutch, who was shouting at the group to keep shooting.

 

His eyes were on you in an instant as you withdrew your revolver from your holster, ready to join the firefight. "What did you find?" he yelled, his voice barely audible against the sounds of gunfire.

 

You reached into your satchel with a free hand and pulled out a handful of papers and jewels. "Bonds, letters to Cornwall about trade deals, some real interesting stuff we can use to our advantage," you called back, shoving the loot immediately back into the satchel before aiming your gun at an officer just inside the train doors. One shot to the head and he was down.

 

A few more well placed shots from Arthur and Micah and the area was suddenly silent, bodies scattered around the train, gunsmoke enveloping them like a mysterious fog in the air.

 

One by one, the gang tentatively rose from their hiding spot - Arthur, then John, then Charles, then Dutch, Hosea, you and Micah - and Dutch barked for everyone to search the other carriages for whatever they could find.

 

"The law got here real fast," Micah spoke in his usual clipped, accusatory tone, "Almost as if they knew we was comin'!" He shot you the sort of glance that you didn't need to be a genius to figure out.

 

You could normally let Micah's idiocy go over your head, but this time your patience was absent - after all, the train robbery had been your idea (you were in a saloon in Saint Denis some weeks prior when you'd heard someone discuss the train that was due to be passing through town, and you'd immediately taken the news to Dutch) and you knew what he was insinuating.

 

"Yes, because my way of trying to prove that I belong out here with y'all would be to set everyone up," you shot back, tired of his attitude.

 

But Micah wouldn't let it go. "There's a reason the women are supposed to stay behind at camp," he snarled, an infuriatingly sarcastic smirk painted across his face as he glared at you, "Perhaps it would be best for you to leave the men to the real work, little girl."

 

You suddenly lunged at him, but Arthur reached to grab you by the shoulders. You tried to shake him, but he refused to let go. His grip was firm without being painful.

 

"He's just trying to rile ya," came Arthur's voice, "Leave him, you did well."

 

Micah scoffed, but opted to leave the conversation as he stepped into one of the train carriages. Your eyes narrowed and you shot him daggers, but he didn't see it with his back turned. Arthur released you and gave you a brief pat on the back, and the two of you walked down to the next carriage to start looting the place.

 

You weren't sure how many minutes had passed, but you were busy rummaging through a drawer in the carriage when you heard the unmistakable sound of shouting, and gunfire, and then Dutch's voice. You barely had time to shove the letters into your satchel before you dashed out of the carriage with Arthur, only to find Dutch at the top of the hill, the bodies of two lawmen strewn around him as he engaged the third in a fist fight.

 

The next few moments felt like a slow motion blur. Dutch swung a punch that missed, and the officer retorted with a punch of his own, square to the side of Dutch's jaw. Dutch went flying, backwards down the hill, his head slamming into the side of one of the rocks, blood splattering everywhere. You screamed, and the officer's head shot up - but before he could reach for his gun, Arthur pulled out his, and then one single shot rang out in the air, the officer suddenly dead on the ground with a bullet between the eyes.

 

Then you were running as fast as your legs would carry you, fear rising in the pit of your stomach as you reached Dutch who appeared lifeless on the ground, eyes closed, face bruised and bloodied. You dropped to your knees before him to grip at his shoulders.

 

"Dutch, can you hear me?" your voice was quieter than you expected it to be, and shaky. You tried to jolt him, but nothing. "Dutch, please... please..." Tears sprang at the corners of your eyes. You dropped your voice to an even quieter whisper as you spoke again. "I love you, _please_..." 

 

You had been in love with him since the moment you first laid eyes on him all those months ago upon joining the gang, but you didn't dare tell a soul, least of all Dutch. It had been getting harder and harder to hide your feelings, and now as he lay before you, you were terrified that he would die before you would even get the chance. 

 

You barely noticed as Hosea crouched down beside you, his face panic stricken. You wondered if he'd heard what you'd said. "Is he breathing? Dutch, speak to us, son!"

 

"We gotta get out of here before more come," came John's voice, "Pick him up and put him on the back of my horse, we need to get him back to camp."

 

Micah suddenly appeared on the scene - _what had taken him so long?_ \- and in a second his eyes were on you, but you barely noticed. Until, that is, he dared to open his mouth.

 

"Look what you've gone and done!" he yelled, and that was all it took. The fear and grief that had been coursing through your veins suddenly became fury, and you leapt to your feet to make a beeline for him.

 

For months you'd tolerated constant mockery and cruel teasing from Micah, and Dutch's decision to let you join the gang on this robbery despite the fact that you were one of the women only led to Micah being even harder on you. You were only human, and you could only take so much.

 

You were barely thinking a coherent thought as you drew out your revolver, pointing it at his chest.

 

All he did was _laugh_.

 

"You gonna shoot me, little girl?"

 

"Now is not the time for this!" Hosea yelled, his voice frantic, but you barely registered it. You were frozen to the spot, your finger hovering over the trigger as you stared down Micah, who seemed eerily calm.

 

"You know, Dutch won't take you to bed if you start shooting up his gang," came Micah's sneering voice. 

 

You snarled, about to squeeze the trigger, fully prepared to take his life - and then without warning he lunged for you. You cried out as you landed on your back onto the grassy ground, Micah's hands grabbing at the barrel of the gun as he tugged to try and remove it from your hands. He loomed over you, and you struggled against him, kicking your legs but he was strong, gripping your throat with one hand as he continued his pursuit to grab the gun from you. You were trapped, panicking as the last bit of available breath left your lungs and you choked for air. You clutched onto your gun, desperate not to let him win this one, desperate to prove to him that you weren't weak, that you belonged. 

 

Your vision was blurry as you saw Arthur and Charles looming over the two of you, and Charles grabbed at Micah's jacket in an attempt to pry him off. You were beginning to see black. Your finger found the trigger again, and you used your last bit of strength left to squeeze it. A single shot rang out, and the hand gripping at your throat went limp. 

 

Micah's body was heavy against yours, and you felt a rush of warmth against your chest. The familiar metallic smell of blood. You gasped for air, tears hot as they slid down your cheeks. The severity of the situation hit you like a slap in the face.

 

Micah was dead.

 

You felt the weight on your chest disappear as Arthur and Charles pulled Micah's body from yours, slinging it onto the ground beside you. Arthur offered you a hand and you took it, legs shaky as you stood up. You surveyed the scene before you. Hosea was helping John get Dutch onto the back of John's horse.

 

"Dutch is still breathing, thank god," Hosea spoke, "We need to get him to camp now."

 

"What do we do with him?" Arthur asked, pointing towards Micah's lifeless form. You didn't dare look. You glanced in Hosea's direction, trying to judge his reaction, but he wouldn't meet your eyes.

 

_What have I done?_

 

"Leave him, we don't have time."

 

Arthur pressed a reassuring hand to your shoulder, and your eyes met his. "You alright?" was all he asked.

 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You knew the tears streaming down your cheeks said otherwise.

 

You wondered if Dutch would survive, and you felt riddled with guilt as you remembered Micah's words. _"Look what you've gone and done!"_ He was right - the robbery had been your idea, after all. And if Dutch did survive, you wondered if he would forgive you for killing Micah, if he would understand that you had acted in self defence. 

 

As your horse carried you across the plains, the realisation of what had happened began to fully hit you, and your body shuddered violently as you sobbed all the way back to camp.

 

It had all gone so horribly wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of keeping things simple, Molly isn't romantically involved with Dutch in this story's universe. Just so you're all aware.
> 
> Also wanted to say a huge thanks to those who have been reading. I appreciate you. This has been my first time venturing into the world of Red Dead fanfiction, so forgive me if my characterisation of anyone isn't 100%.

Silence enveloped the camp home at Shady Belle as you sat at Dutch's bedside. It was the middle of the night, and everyone else was asleep, aside from Charles who was on guard duty. You were exhausted, but every time you felt your tiredness overwhelming you and your head beginning to droop, you jolted to life again, not wanting to doze off just in case Dutch awoke.

 

Earlier that day the gang had arrived back to camp in a state of emergency. Hosea was hollering to Susan and Simon to get the medical supplies, while Arthur and John were carrying a pale, bloodied and unconscious Dutch up the stairs of the house to get him to bed as quickly as possible. Dutch had regained consciousness on the journey back but only briefly and, according to John, had been groaning and mumbling incoherently before passing out again. There were unnecessary shouting arguments breaking out between group members as everyone had conflicting ideas and opinions about how to handle the situation. 

 

Karen and Mary-Beth had rushed to you as soon as they saw you, spotted the massive blood stain on the front of your shirt and the puffiness of your teary eyes, and proceeded to engulf you in crushing embraces.

 

At first, nobody appeared to realise that they were missing someone, until a couple of hours later when the panic had subsided and Dutch had properly regained consciousness again. It was Javier who mentioned it. "Where's Micah?"

 

"Shot. He didn't make it," was Arthur's simple reply.

 

"Shit."

 

It appeared to be assumed that Micah had been killed in the firefight, and nobody questioned it further. It made you feel even worse. Micah had been impossible at best, but he was still a member of the family, and you hadn't meant to kill him. It had all happened so fast. The guilt was eating you up inside. 

 

It was pitch black outside, but the lantern on the bedside table was providing some light in the room. The windows were all open - the heat at night was often stifling - and you could hear the faint sounds of crickets in the distance.

 

A soft knock at the door jolted you from your sleepy reverie, and you looked up to find Tilly in the doorway.

 

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," came her voice in a whisper, "Do you want me to take over?"

 

You smiled gratefully, but shook your head. "I appreciate it, but I want to be here when he wakes up."

 

"Alright." Suddenly Tilly seemed awkward, tentatively glancing behind her and then back to you, opening her mouth to speak and then closing it again. You frowned, puzzled.

 

"Something the matter?"

 

"I..." One last glance behind her and then she stepped into the room, closing the door gently. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

 

Your eyebrows shot up. You felt a pit in your stomach, sure that she was going to ask about Micah.

 

Tilly strode over to the open window, beckoning you to join her. You studied Dutch's sleeping form briefly, checking he was still asleep and breathing, and then you rose from the bed to join Tilly at the window.

 

"I've watched you since you joined us all those months back, and I could always tell but I didn't think it was my place to say anything -"

 

"Tell what? What are you talking about?" Your heart was pounding.

 

Tilly's eyes went to Dutch then back to you. A small smile played upon her lips. "You love him, don't you?"

 

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words seemed to come out. You weren't really sure what to say.

 

"It's always so clear in the way you look at him," Tilly continued, her tone gentle and sympathetic.

 

"Micah knew," you said, unsure of why you felt the need to bring him up now, but his words still echoed in your head and they bothered you. _"You know, Dutch won't take you to bed if you start shooting up his gang."_

 

Tilly took your hands in hers, her expression genuine as she gazed at you. "Darlin', with respect... we all know. You ain't subtle."

 

You felt that familiar surge of panic settling in your stomach. "Do you think Dutch knows?"

 

Tilly smiled. "Dutch notices _everything_."

 

You sighed, releasing Tilly's hands to sit back against the window frame. You dropped your head, eyes burning into the wooden flooring beneath your feet. You were so tired. "When I saw him fall, I thought he was a goner for sure. And all I could think about was how much it would kill me to lose him."

 

"We've lost so many people, and I know in my heart that we ain't seen the worst of this yet. None of us knows how much time we've got." Tilly placed a hand gently on your knee, causing you to glance up at her. "Tell him the truth. Because you know what? I've seen the way he looks at you too. And I haven't seen him look at anyone like that since Annabelle."

 

With that, Tilly gave you one last smile, and left the room. You remained perched on the window ledge, endless thoughts swimming through your mind as you gazed over at the sleeping form of the man you loved. 

 

You knew deep down that Tilly was right: nobody knew how much time was left for the gang. Enemies were in pursuit left and right, and every time you saw Dutch ride off into the distance you wondered if it would be the last time. You thought of Sadie, a woman seemingly trapped in her anger and grief over losing her husband. You knew that being in love and being an outlaw didn't always meld together successfully, but as you watched Dutch's chest slowly rise and fall in time with his breathing, you ached to hold him, and realised that any time with him would be better than none at all.

 

You walked back over to the side of the bed and sat down, taking one of Dutch's hands in yours, gently raising it to your lips to plant a single kiss against his knuckles.

 

"I love you, Dutch van der Linde," you whispered, and those were the last words you spoke, continuing your vigil at his bedside in complete silence for the rest of the night.

 

Tomorrow, you hoped, you would be brave enough to say those words out loud to him.


	3. Chapter 3

It was just after sunrise when Dutch finally awoke. He immediately threw a hand over his eyes and rubbed at them, a quiet groan escaping his lips as the excruciating pain in the side of his head finally hit him. He felt groggy and nauseous, and in his sleepy daze before the memories came flooding back he wondered what he'd drank to give him this kind of hangover.

He moved his hand and groaned again as his blinking eyes were bathed in sunlight. _Where am I?_

He was suddenly aware of the feeling of warmth against the side of his body, and slowly he turned his head to see the cause.

There you were, laying curled up next to him in the bed, sound asleep. You hadn't meant to fall asleep, but in your exhausted state at some point during the night you'd decided that you were just going to lay down and rest your eyes. Within two minutes, you were completely out of it, happily lost in dreams of Dutch.

Dutch smiled weakly as he lay his eyes upon your sleeping form. You looked so peaceful and admittedly he could hardly complain about waking up next to you. He had been trying so hard to bury his feelings for you, trying to remain focused on his work, but... you were _intoxicating_. He loved how you matched him in intelligence - nobody challenged him quite like you did. He was also staggered by the way you carried yourself, and how able you were to take care of yourself. He'd never seen a woman handle a gun as expertly as you did. He hadn't felt that way for a long time, and it unnerved him. He was sinking further into love, flailing and trying to remain afloat, but you insisted on dragging him down. _Oh, she is but a beautiful anchor, tethering me to the eye of the storm._

Dutch spoke your name softly, and though his voice was weak and raspy you heard him immediately, your eyes flying open in an instant. You still felt tired; the few hours sleep had only made you feel worse, and your head was pounding.

Your eyes found Dutch's, and your heart soared as you saw him smiling at you. "Well, well, what a beautiful sight to wake up to."

Instantly you were sat up, fussing over him, lifting up the bandage on the side of his head to check the wound. His words had manifested butterflies in your stomach, but you tried to ignore them to focus on the task at hand. You were still concerned about his wellbeing. "How are you feeling?"

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna be just fine."

"Do you remember what happened? There was a fist fight. You and a police officer, during the robbery. He knocked you down the hill and you landed head first on a pile of rocks."

"I should've just put a bullet between his eyes." He chuckled. "Did you find anything else on the train?"

_So he does remember._ "Charles found a money box with $600 cash inside. There were some jewels too. It was a good haul, Boss." You reached for his arm, pressing two fingers against the pulse point on his wrist, and the two of you locked eyes. He smiled at you, and you felt weak. Even pale and bruised, he was still gorgeous as ever.

You broke the eye contact, feeling the tension in the room growing heavy as the silence between the two of you remained. His skin was warm, his pulse thrumming fiercely against your fingers.

"Were you here all night?" he asked, piercing the silence. He curled his fingers round to grab at your hand, and you just nodded, not daring to make eye contact with him again.

"Thank you. You're a good woman."

You closed your eyes briefly, grateful for the chance to just be here with him, like this, with him completely unguarded. You rarely saw Dutch in this light, so open and affectionate, and it was making your heart ache even more.

You knew you'd have to tell him about Micah, and suddenly you felt physically sick.

"Something happened, Dutch..." The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, and you released his wrist from your grip. When you finally felt brave enough to look up at him again, he was frowning.

"It's Micah," you continued, speaking slowly, "He... he didn't make it."

Dutch's eyes widened. "What on earth happened?"

"He was shot." You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat as the events of the previous day replayed in your mind. You could still remember Micah's hand around your neck, the piercing sound of the single gunshot, the way his entire body went limp and heavy on top of yours. "I... shot him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger because I'm a cruel bastard. Heh.


	4. Chapter 4

"You shot him? Why?" Dutch's voice cracked as he raised it. He was staring straight at you, eyebrows furrowed. You were having trouble catching your breath. Part of you wished you hadn't come clean, but you knew you had to: you didn't want to betray Dutch with a lie.

 

"He blamed me for you getting hurt. I was so angry. I pointed my gun at him, but I wasn't actually going to..." You felt the emotion rising within you, and all at once a sob escaped your lips, tears falling before you could cease them. "I thought he was going to kill me, I panicked, but I didn't mean to... I didn't..." You were sobbing so hard you couldn't even finish your sentence.

 

You turned away, not wanting Dutch to see you like this. Dutch was speechless, and as he watched your head turn, he saw it. The bruising on your neck. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, and it felt like a punch to the gut. He was furious. Micah was rebellious, but Dutch never expected him to turn on one of their own. Especially not you. Especially since... 

 

_"I'm not sure we should be bringing her along. If anything happens to her -"_

 

_"Well gee, you never show that kind of concern for me when I'm out there!"_

 

_"Now don't get me wrong, that woman is a force not to be reckoned with, I know she can handle herself. But if something goes wrong out there and she gets hurt, I - I just don't want to lose her."_

 

_"You're sweet on her, ain't ya? Would you look at that, the Boss is in love. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me!"_

 

_"Micah, you're toeing a very fine line, I suggest you stop."_

 

_"I'm only messing with ya. Don't worry, she'll be just fine. We'll protect the little Princess."_

 

Dutch reached out to touch your neck, his thumb lightly ghosting over the location of the bruises, anger bubbling within him. _This is your way of protecting her? This is your way of respecting my wishes?_

 

You flinched at his touch, flicking your head back to face him again. Your tears slid down your cheeks and landed onto his hand, and his facial expression softened as he looked at you.

 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, and you squeezed your eyes shut, crying harder.

 

"No," he said firmly, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, and you drew in a shuddery breath. "You're not the one who owes me an apology, my dear. I promise you that."

 

"The train was my idea, Dutch! Micah was right, it was nobody's responsibility but mine, you got hurt and it was all my fault -" You were babbling almost incoherently now and you knew it but you couldn't seem to quiet yourself. "- And what if you had been killed? Then we lose our leader, and for what? And I can't lose you, Dutch, losing you would break my heart -"

 

You gasped then, realising what you'd said. _Losing you would break my heart._ You fully expected him to recoil then, but he didn't, his gaze upon you more intense than ever. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. You placed your trembling hand over his, feeling the pleasant warmth of his skin beneath yours. He leaned closer, leaving mere inches between your face and his. 

 

"I can assure you, losing you would break mine," he breathed, and his lips were upon yours before you even had time to process his words.

 

The first kiss was gentle, chaste, almost as though the two of you feared breaking one another. It was simple and pure: nothing like you'd imagined your first kiss with Dutch to be. You had dreamt of this moment a thousand times, and your dreams were full of fire and unbridled passion. In your dreams, Dutch was the calculated, cocksure force of nature he ever was, pursuing you like a hungry wolf. You blinked at the reality before you, and saw just a man. Dutch looked tired, and it wasn't just the head injury - you knew he was falling to the point of no return, exhaustedly scrabbling for survival while his plans disintegrated like quicksand beneath his feet. Few others in the camp seemed to notice, but then perhaps they didn't look at him quite when you did, nor quite as long.

 

But seeing the reality of Dutch van der Linde in the harsh light of the morning sun hadn't dulled your desire in the slightest. If anything, it had fanned the flames. You longed to protect him from the harsh realities of the path he had chosen to travel down. You longed to be his port in the storm.

 

Dutch's eyes slid closed, and he dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, the sound of your name escaping his lips in a shaky exhale. You reached to grab his hand, fingers threading together as you gripped onto one another tightly, as though afraid something would come to tear you apart. 

 

You longed to say those three words, feeling them on the tip of your tongue as you remained enveloped in the closeness of him, your heart full and fit to burst. But you remained silent. You could not speak them today. The moment was delicate as a baby bird, and you knew the words would be too heavy, like an opportunistic hawk swooping amongst the silence.

 

A knock against the bedroom door made you jump, and the bubble of the moment was popped. Dutch's eyes snapped open and he moved back, and you missed him immediately, an ache of disappointment and longing in your chest as you turned to see who had been cruel enough to rouse the pair of you from your reverie.

 

"I heard voices, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay." It was Arthur. "How are you feeling, Dutch?"

 

Dutch shot Arthur a smile. "I'm fine, son. I appreciate your concern."

 

"You gave us quite a fright there. Been a while since I've seen Hosea panic like that." Arthur turned his attention to you. "You alright?"

 

You weren't sure how to respond. _Am I alright?_ "I told Dutch. About Micah. About what he... what he did."

 

The fury in Arthur's eyes was clear as day. "That bastard got a merciful end as far as I'm concerned, better than what he deserved, let me tell ya."

 

Arthur had always been protective of you, in the way a brother protects a sister, and you were grateful for it. You wondered perhaps what Arthur would have done to Micah had you not shot him: it was likely that Micah would have been doomed regardless.

 

"I truly thought I knew Micah," came Dutch's response, "I truly believed that he was a part of this family, and that he was willing to respect my wishes. Clearly, it was a severe error of my judgment."

 

"You're damn right it was. I told you from the beginning we couldn't trust him."

 

Dutch sighed, exasperated. "Indeed you did, Arthur. But what's done is done. Now we must look forward to the future, and I must figure out our next move."

 

"Yeah, well... take a day or two to rest first, Dutch. Won't be going anywhere like that." Arthur pointed to the bandaged part of Dutch's head.

 

"Arthur's right," you chimed in, "You aren't going anywhere until that's healed, sir."

 

Dutch smirked at you, a cheeky glint in his eye. "Is that so, _Miss_?"

 

You sat up onto your knees and leaned over Dutch's frame, giving his head wound another quick glance over. You could feel his warm breath against your neck, his hand pressed gently at your waist to steady you, and the closeness of his body to yours was enough to make you dizzy with desire.

 

"That is indeed so," you spoke firmly as you withdrew, finally standing up from the bed, trying not to notice the heat in the stare Dutch was giving you. Arthur, surprisingly, seemed oblivious, and for that you were grateful. "I'm going to see if Strauss is awake yet. Your bandage needs changing. Would you mind staying for a bit, Arthur?"

 

"No, I don't mind."

 

"Thank you. I'll be back soon," you said, and you flashed a knowing smile at Dutch, which he returned before you turned and walked out of the room.

 

You went outside to find Strauss already awake and poring over his accounts, and after asking him to go and check on Dutch for you, you made an instant beeline back into the house to the tiny box room on the ground floor that you'd claimed as your own. You instantly crashed onto the cot, your head thumping with the taunt of an impending headache, and you closed your eyes, praying for sleep to take you swiftly. Instead, your mind was on overdrive. 

 

Guilt was still weighing heavily on you for what you'd done to Micah, and not only that but you felt more confused than ever about your feelings for Dutch. He had kissed you, but you weren't entirely sure what that meant for the two of you. You were terrified that it had just been a heat of the moment thing for him and that it would lead to nothing more. Plus, he was recovering from a head injury. _Perhaps he didn't know what he was doing. Why on earth would he be interested in me?_ Desire and longing and confusion and doubt were all swimming in your brain, taunting you. 

 

_"Losing you would break my heart."_

 

_"I can assure you, losing you would break mine."_

 

You couldn't make sense of it at all. And god, you were just so _tired_. God, you were so in love with him.

 

You rolled over onto your back, placed both hands over your face, and burst into tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thanks to those who have supported this work. This is the final chapter!

_One month later..._

 

The atmosphere in Shady Belle was calm and relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. Little Jack Marston was finally home after being missing thanks to the meddling of the troublesome Braithwaite family, and the gang was relieved beyond words that he'd been retrieved safely.

 

You took a sip of whiskey, too intoxicated to be bothered about the way it burned your throat as you sat down at the campfire next to Abigail, Jack and Karen. Javier was playing songs on his guitar and everyone was thoroughly enjoying the performance. You gave Jack a squeeze and a ruffle of the hair, grateful that he was okay.

 

Dutch seemed back to his usual self, although he came across softer, more thoughtful than he had been before his accident. None of the camp members were sure whether it could be chalked up to the injury or the fact that he was no longer being influenced by Micah's presence - although the general consensus in camp was that losing Micah had been a positive rather than a negative. Cruel as it was, nobody missed him.

 

Despite this, nothing more had happened between you and Dutch, and you were hurting for it. Luckily you hadn't had much time to think about it in the past couple of weeks - the Jack situation had been occupying everybody's time and minds - but some nights you had to admit, in the dead of night when it was your turn on guard duty, your mind would solemnly wander. You would picture Dutch sleeping soundly in his bed, imagining what it would be like to be able to walk into the room, climb into bed and curl up in his arms.

 

You had other thoughts too, ones which weren't quite as chaste, but you saved those for the nights spent in the privacy of your own room. Some nights when you were feeling especially frustrated and bold, you would let Dutch's name fall from your lips as your brought yourself pleasure, hoping that somehow he would hear you from above and join you, and finally give you what you had craved for so long.

 

It would never happen, of course, and you'd fall back to Earth tangled once more in your feelings of shame and loneliness.

 

You glanced up from your spot at the campfire and spotted him, sat at a table with Hosea and Arthur, talking quietly though he seemed happy and relaxed from his demeanour. You loved seeing him like that.

 

A smirk played upon Dutch's face as he caught your eye, the moonlight reflecting upon his gorgeous features, and those familiar butterflies danced in your stomach. You wondered just what he was thinking about. 

 

Arthur saw you too and was a little less subtle, waving you over with an enthusiastic arm, almost knocking Hosea in the face in the process. You could tell he was quite drunk.

 

With glass still in hand you sauntered over to the table. There was a vacant fourth seat but Arthur caught you by the waist and pulled you onto his lap before you could sit down. Hosea chuckled, and Dutch just watched with a cocked brow as he took a sip of his drink.

 

"There she is," boomed Arthur's hearty voice, and he planted a sloppy kiss upon your cheek which made you grimace and then laugh. "How ya doin', darlin'?"

 

"I'm alright, Arthur. How's your hand?" Arthur's hand had gotten grazed by a passing bullet during the firefight at the Braithwaite's.

 

"It's just fine. I've been hurt worse."

 

"That's not particularly comforting!" You both laughed. 

 

"We were just talking shop, trying to work out our next move," Hosea chimed in, "The Bank in Saint Denis seems like a viable option, but I'm still working on gathering all the information."

 

You nodded, and then sat quietly as Arthur continued the conversation with Hosea, although you weren't really paying much attention to what they were saying. You lifted your glass of whiskey to your lips to take another swig, but a droplet missed your mouth and slid down your chin and onto your chest. You chuckled sheepishly, raising a hand to wipe your chin, and as you did so you caught Dutch's eye. His dark gaze travelled from your chin to your chest and lingered for a moment before returning to your eyes again, and you could feel yourself flushing under the heat of his stare. There was a hunger, a longing in those deep brown eyes that you'd never seen before. The kind you'd only ever seen in your dreams. It thrilled and unnerved you equally.

 

As you looked away your mind picked the worst possible time to betray you, flashing you an image of Dutch leaning across the table, pressing his mouth up against your neck to catch that rogue drop of whiskey between his lips. Your eyes widened at the thought, and you prayed to God that nobody had noticed your reaction.

 

Your eyes flicked back up to Dutch once more. His eyebrows were knitted together as he stared at you. _Oh no. He did notice._ You felt uncomfortably warm all of a sudden, and it wasn't because of the alcohol or the climate.

 

You tipped the last bit of the drink into your mouth in one enthusiastic gulp, placing the glass down onto the table. Time to make an escape. You gave Arthur's thigh a friendly tap and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need another drink," you announced with a smile, and you were out of the vicinity before any of them could comment or complain about your departure.

 

The hustle and bustle of the outside festivities were dulled as soon as you pushed the front door open and stepped into the house, and you were grateful for a moment to breathe. Being around Dutch when you were tipsy was dangerous, and you knew it would get worse the more you drank. You didn't want to say or do anything you would regret.

 

You went to grab a bottle of whiskey from your bedroom and then stepped through to the front room, the muffled sound of Javier's guitar playing and everyone's out of sync singing wafting through the slightly cracked open window. You slumped onto the uncomfortable wooden chair and placed your bottle onto the table in front of you, sighing. Your eyes drifted closed as you remained there, basking in the emptiness of the space around you.

 

You were brought back to Earth by the squeak of the front door, slow footsteps against the creaky floorboards. The sound of a husky baritone drawl of your name entered your eardrums, although you'd had an instinct about who it was before they'd spoken. Your eyelids fluttered open. There he stood.

 

"Well, I can't remember the last time I saw a woman draped over Arthur Morgan's lap that hadn't been paid to be there." You bristled at Dutch's sarcasm, his accompanying laughter so _icy_ that it sent a chill down your spine. 

 

But intimidating as he perhaps would have been to someone who barely knew him, your immediate instinct was fury over fear. _How dare he?_ "Arthur is my brother in every sense aside from the fact that we don't share blood, and I'd thank you to watch where you throw such accusations, sir."

 

The lantern on the table didn't provide too much light in the room, but despite this you could see the flicker of hostility in his eyes at your words. 

 

"Watch your tone, Miss," he retorted sharply, "I'll excuse it the one time seeing as you're clearly intoxicated, but that'll be your only warning."

 

You straightened up in your seat, anger coursing through your veins at his attitude. Had he really come to find you just to start an argument? And over an insinuation that you knew he knew wasn't true in the slightest?

 

"Are you jealous? Of course, I must be mistaken, there's no jealousy here. Jealousy would imply desire to possess something, which clearly you have shown you do not, Mr van der Linde -"

 

Dutch lunged forward, slamming one hand onto the table so hard that the whiskey bottle and lantern both trembled precariously. Your eyes were hooded daggers of defiance as they met his. 

 

"Watch. Your. Tone."

 

You refused to be fazed by his tantrum. "Or what? You're going to hurt me? I can assure you, you've hurt me quite enough these last few weeks," you spat bitterly, "All you could do at this point would be to pour salt into a wound that you already created."

 

At your words Dutch appeared to rein in his temper, his expression softening as he continued his fixed gaze upon you. "You know that I would die before I would ever willingly hurt any member of this family. I would give my life for any one of you." He swallowed hard. "Especially you."

 

A small sigh escaped your parted lips, your gaze dropping to your lap. You wished this didn't have to be so difficult. You stood up from your seat and wandered over to the window, desperately needing some distance from the situation. You saw Abigail with her arms wrapped around Jack, John beside her with a single hand perched upon her shoulder, the three of them nodding enthusiastically in time to Javier's music. The sight made your chest ache. 

 

"Do you truly believe me to be a heartless monster?" The despondency that now tinged Dutch's voice was almost disarming. "Do you truly believe that the moment we shared meant nothing to me? I am not incapable of love. The fact that this gang still stands strong proves that."

 

"I never believed you were incapable of love, Dutch. I just wonder if you're incapable of loving me."

 

The extended silence that followed your words was deafening. Your gaze remained fixed to the window, refusing to look in Dutch's direction. You knew you weren't strong enough at that moment. One more glance from him and you were sure you would succumb to tears. 

 

"Well, perhaps you're right. But you've never even given me a chance. I have spent these last few weeks doing what I do best, and that is, taking care of this family. John and Abigail needed me. Jack needed me." You heard the sound of slow, tentative footsteps behind you, and the sudden feeling of a warm presence ghosted against your body as he finally reached you, his hand gentle as it gripped your shoulder. "But don't believe for one second that I have not spent every day consumed by what could have been between us. By what could be."

 

You spun round, finally feeling brave enough to face him. His hand retreated from your shoulder and settled itself halfway down your back, drawing you closer. Your heart was beating wildly, all the longing and despair of the last few weeks dissipating as you stared into his eyes. You didn't see brashness or bluster: only the sincerity and hope of a broken man. You felt as though you were once again looking at the Dutch whom had kissed you a few weeks earlier.

 

"And what if I were to give you that chance?"

 

He placed a hand upon your cheek, his thumb ghosting against your cheekbone. "Then I would grasp that chance firmly with both hands, and use it to tell you that you are the woman my heart desires. That your presence by my side makes all of this worth it. That your kiss brought me back from the depths of the beyond. That you are my anchor, my beautiful, incredible anchor, the one who keeps me from floating away into oblivion."

 

You felt as though your heart was soaring as you took in his words. You reached one hand to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the dark curls of his hair. 

 

"The chance is yours to take, then," you murmured, "I am yours. I have always been yours."

 

Dutch responded by sweeping you up in both arms, pushing you backwards against the window frame as his lips found yours. 

 

That second kiss, unlike the first, was hungry and fervent, full of roaming hands, desperate moans and pure _fire_ , and it was everything you had ever wanted it to be. Your emotions were a whirlwind within you, and when Dutch finally pulled away, there were tears brimming in your eyes. He was immediately alarmed, his hands gently cupping your face.

 

"What's wrong, my dear?"

 

You shook your head, laughing. "There's nothing wrong. I just..." _Say it._ "I just love you, so much. I truly do. I adore you, Dutch van der Linde, more than I ever thought I could anyone."

 

"And I you, my darling," Dutch pulled you into another lingering kiss, and when he retreated you were sure you could see his eyes shining with the threat of tears.

 

The sudden sound of an excited scream and then laughter rang out in the distance, and it made you jump, yanking you back down from cloud nine. You whipped your head round to glance out of the window. Arthur was spinning Jack around in his arms. Abigail was looking on, a hand covering half her face in exasperation but still appeared to be chuckling at the scene nonetheless. Behind them Karen and Mary-Beth were stood near the campfire, singing and dancing - at least, attempting to amidst their fits of giggles.

 

"Look at those fools," came Dutch's voice, but it was tinged with amusement. You chuckled, your heart full with love for them all as you watched on.

 

"Come on," you said, hopping down from the window, "Let's go enjoy the rest of our night with those fools."

 

Dutch reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss upon your palm. "As you wish." He gripped your hand tightly as you started to walk out of the room together, but you stopped in your tracks as you remembered something.

 

"Wait!" you yelped, and you rushed back to grab your unopened whiskey bottle of the table. You waggled your eyebrows at Dutch and waved the bottle in his direction as you reached to hold his hand again, earning a hearty laugh from him.

 

You spent the rest of the night enveloped in warmth - the warmth of the campfire as you sat around it, the warmth of your friends and their support (even Bill, whose gruff remark upon seeing Dutch with his arms wrapped around you was "Took you both long enough, I was about ready to bang your heads together!") and the warmth of the man you loved.

 

You giggled as Dutch pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, his moustache tickling your skin. You felt at ease as the festivities went on around you, happier than you'd felt in a long time.

 

_Finally_ , you thought, taking a swig of your drink with a smile, _I think this next chapter is gonna be a good one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... that ending was so syrupy my diabetes started acting up. XD But I think they all deserve a happy ending for a change, this game is full of far too much angst. 
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to those of you who joined me on this Red Dead adventure! You're all awesome. <3


End file.
